


don't forget today

by warmly



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmly/pseuds/warmly
Summary: At twelve, he trails behind. At seventeen, they're shoulder-to-shoulder. At twenty-one, Suna wonders why he thought pretense was the only way to face Osamu.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 63
Kudos: 514





	don't forget today

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [не забудь про сегодня](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346798) by [жёлтая сунарина (librevers)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librevers/pseuds/%D0%B6%D1%91%D0%BB%D1%82%D0%B0%D1%8F%20%D1%81%D1%83%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B0)



> [☆](https://hillergoodspeed.tumblr.com/post/156004693425/based-on-a-true-story)

Over the years, Suna's found that even the mildest of annoyances are like weeds. However small they might start, they'll grow—inevitably, _invariably_ —out-of-hand unless he takes care of them right then and there. 

He's learned to pull from the roots.

"—which is _why_ you should come with! There's a girl from our department coming that thinks you're _ree~ally_ cute."

Suna looks up from his notebook, twirling his pen once, twice, before resting his cheek against the open palm of his hand. He can't pretend he's sick. Not only does he look _definitively_ not, but he used the same excuse three weeks ago. Could he fake an emergency? Maybe a family dinner? Though, on second thought, he isn't sure how convincing that could possibly be when his parents essentially moved out to the countryside the second he started university, leaving him alone in a too-big home. But no one really _knows_ that out of pocket, do they? Maybe he shouldn't risk it anyway. But this guy— _what was his name again?_ —is persistent, too. He won't take a simple _no_ for an answer.

"Heeeey, Suna? You listening?" It'll be fun!" 

What a hassle. He parts his lips to say, _I'm_ _busy_ , but being busy today doesn't mean he'll be (convincingly) busy _next_ time. Suna wants to nip this in the bud. 

His phone vibrates then, a familiar name flashing on the screen, accompanied by a single text message reading: _i'm hungry_.

A lightbulb flickers amidst a flurry of thoughts. 

_Bingo_.

He clasps his hand over his phone and slides it into his bag. Closes his notebook too, busying himself with collecting the last of his belongings before he gets up from his seat, the chair scraping further and further back with each movement. 

"That'd be a pain," Suna says with a half-hearted shrug. And before his classmate can ask any questions, he adds, "Because I'm in a relationship." _And_ because he's feeling a little mean, he deadpans: "And I _ree~ally_ like him."

* * *

**Suna Rintarou (15:59):** stay where you are  
 **Suna Rintarou (15:59):** let's eat

* * *

"Whoa," is all Osamu says when he stumbles out of his last class of the day, clearly half-awake, only to lock eyes with Suna while mid-yawn. He closes his mouth abruptly and rubs at his eye, doesn't even bat a lash when Suna pushes himself up off of where he'd been leaning against the windowsill. In seconds, they go from just far enough to just close enough that their shoulders nearly bump. "I want ramen."

"Sure," Suna replies, attention focused on the screen of his phone. "My treat."

Osamu turns to glance at Suna, expression a mix of mild surprise and apprehension. "Yeah?" he asks. "It's not my birthday or anything."

The corners of Suna's mouth twitch into a minuscule, indiscernible smile. "Why do you look so suspicious of me?"

"'Cause I am," Osamu says, too easily. He yawns again and shakes his head afterward, a feeble attempt at getting the last of his afternoon lethargy out of his system. "You and Atsumu always try to butter me up before asking me to do something stupid." He purses his lips, squinting at a broken light fixture above them before he stifles another yawn. 

"Now you're comparing me to Atsumu? That's mean."

"Huh. I guess you're not half as bad," Osamu concedes. "Speaking of that jerk, weren't you supposed to go to a mixer with him? He said his buddy's been trying to drag you along. What was his name again... Yaha-something?" 

"Don't know," Suna says. And a beat later, "Didn't want to go."

Osamu blinks slowly. He always does things a little slowly, leisurely, like he has all of the time in the world (and even if he didn't, he'd find pockets of it somewhere). It's why it's easier being in Osamu's company, easier to _relax_ than it is around Atsumu, who seems to radiate a very human but very indomitable energy wherever he goes. The only time Osamu even comes _close_ is when he's bickering with Atsumu.

He's known the both of them since they were all kids, but it's always been more or less the same. Wherever Atsumu went, sometimes Osamu and Suna followed. Wherever Osamu went, Suna definitely followed. 

"Alright," continues Osamu, and for a flicker of a moment, he seems to consider which topic he's supposed to chase. He settles on ditching the mixer conversation. "So, what do you want?" 

Suna glances at his phone again, scrolling through a series of extremely excited—or angry—messages from Atsumu. He tabs out of the window and checks the weather instead. Good, no rain. The forecast's been spotty all week, and precipitation had been a promise in the morning. "Nothing. Just a little favor."

"What kind of favor?"

His phone vibrates again. ( _SUNA U FUCKING LIAR WHAT THE HELLLLLLLL_ ) He mutes his conversation with Atsumu this time and decidedly locks his phone, pocketing it quickly. The expression on his face probably contorts into one of mild annoyance. Atsumu seriously has _zero_ tact.

Osamu peers at him curiously and Suna realizes belatedly that he hasn't responded yet. So, too casually, Suna says, "Pretend to be my boyfriend. And where are we going?"

"Oh, okay. Maybe we should go to the place with the good karaage or the one near—" Osamu freezes in his tracks, Suna's words clearly registering a little too late. He's silent, mouth ajar, expression blank before his brows furrow and he just looks downright _confused._ "Your _what_?" 

"Boyfriend," Suna says as he turns around, having walked a few steps ahead of Osamu. He jams his hands into his pockets nonchalantly, giving Osamu an impatient _look_ , like Suna wants him to keep up with the conversation. "Pretend boyfriend," he amends. "And the place with the karaage's closed on Wednesdays. We should just go to the one near the station."

"Hold on—" Osamu blinks again and then he shakes his head. He shuffles forward to catch up with Suna. Gaze fixed to the ground, he seems a little pensive. "What gives." 

"Well, you were right," Suna says. "I keep getting asked to go to mixers. I don't want to go. The guy's stubborn. So I told him—"

"Yaha-something?"

"Yeah, him. Told him I couldn't because I was in a relationship."

Osamu stares, dully. "Huh. And he backed off?"

"Kind of. Could tell he didn't really buy it, so I told him to believe whatever he wanted..." 

"And?"

"That's why I need the favor." Suna's lips curve into a smile, noticeably this time. He doesn't miss the way Osamu's eyes widen a bit before softening again—a sure sign he'll probably give in. "What, can't do it?" 

"What's so bad about mixers?" Osamu asks instead. His lower lip juts out a bit as he drags his attention forward, clearly racking through a pros and cons list in his mind. A second later, his shoulders sag. He probably can't figure out the answer to his own question. 

And truth be told, Suna isn't really sure he has a robust answer himself. He just isn't interested—at least not in the people he's sure he'll meet there. That, and while he's never minded blending into rambunctious group settings when the occasion arose, he's always preferred quieter places, quieter _people_ , and environments where he doesn't feel have to wind himself up. He's lethargic on his best days and he's comfortable with that. If he had to choose, he'd much rather get ramen with Osamu than go on a blind date with almost-strangers.

"Can you do it or not?" 

The conversation tapers off into silence but eventually, Osamu lets out a thoughtful sigh, a little _hm-mm_ of contemplation. "Sounds like a huge pain," he admits, tilting his head to one side and then to the other. "I'm probably no good at acting."

It doesn't sound like a _no_. Suna presses his mouth into a neutral line to keep from laughing. 

"But I guess I can help," Osamu finally, _finally_ concedes. He bumps his elbow against Suna's gracelessly before walking half-a-step faster. "You're buying me lunch for the next week though." 

Suna doesn't bother trying to match Osamu's pace. He pulls his phone back out of his pocket and holds it up, slowing his step. "If you turn around right now, I'll even buy you pudding."

Osamu turns, and it's right then that Suna snaps a photo. 

"What the... Did you just take a picture?"

"Yeah," Suna says. He walks until they're shoulder-to-shoulder again, holding the phone up to show Osamu. It's not a bad picture. The sun's filtering in at just the right angle through the windowpane, and Osamu's good-looking enough that it wouldn't matter much even if the lighting was terrible. "Gonna send it to Atsumu later."

"What for?" 

Suna smiles again. "The favor. It starts now." He reaches up to tweak Osamu's cheek. "Day one." 

* * *

**Miya Atsumu (16:02):** RELATIONSHIP?  
 **Miya Atsumu (16:02):** HUH?????  
 **Miya Atsumu (16:02):** SUNA U DAMN LIAR WHAT THE HELLLLLLLL  
 **Miya Atsumu (16:03):** fuck me i only said id go because i thought you were going JERK  
 **Miya Atsumu (16:03):** RELATIONSHIP WITH WHO????????  
 **Suna Rintarou (17:21):** [ _Image Attached_ ]  
 **Miya Atsumu (17:24):** why are u sending me a pic of samu   
**Miya Atsumu (17:24):** i see that ugly mug every day   
**Miya Atsumu (17:24):** wait.  
 **Miya Atsumu (17:25):** HEY HOLD ON A DANG SECOND  
 **Suna Rintarou (17:38):** hey **  
** **Suna Rintarou (17:38):** shut up ♡

* * *

Nothing really comes out of their arrangement, which Suna anticipated. No one asks questions (and on second thought, he was never _so_ popular that an update to his relationship status would send a tremor across the student body) and the only person who seems worked up about it at all is Atsumu. 

There actually isn't any need to lie to Atsumu. If Suna told Atsumu the truth, that he was only using Osamu as an excuse to dodge sacrificing two hours of his life he'd never get back sitting in the company of chatty strangers, Atsumu probably wouldn't blow his cover—no matter how unreliable he seems on the daily. But it almost feels like a waste to let the adrenaline rush of keeping secrets die so soon. No one's going to question his little white lie, at least not extensively, but a part of Suna wants to see just how far it can go. 

"You jerk," Atsumu grits out, twirling the straw in his smoothie with a novel vigor. He's been drinking a lot of smoothies lately. Green ones, too, which Suna figures is probably just Atsumu chasing another fad. "I don't know what the hell you're doing, but what are you dragging Osamu into it for? 'Course he wouldn't say no to someone like _you!_ " 

The thing about Atsumu is that he really does care about Osamu, _immensely_. To the untrained eye, it's easy to mistake their bantering as a platonic antipathy toward one another, but when it counts, Atsumu's more than willing to step up to play the _big brother_ he claims he is.

"Was it so wrong of me to ask someone out?" Suna retorts, rolling his eyes. He presses his cheek against one hand, leaning forward to sneer at Atsumu. "You're acting like I forced him into this. A relationship takes two, Atsumu."

" _A relationship takes two, Sumu_ —bah, whatever!" Atsumu's glower darkens, if that's even possible. "Listen here, you better not be a jerk to Osamu and play with his feeli— _ow!_ The hell!"

A swift smack to the back of Atsumu's head forces him to swallow the rest of his sentence. The owner of the hand? None other than Atsumu's splitting image, looking thoroughly uninterested in the conversation he'd interrupted. Osamu's gaze jumps from the offended expression on Atsumu's face and then to Suna. Their eyes lock, maybe for a second too long, and Suna can tell there's a question in Osamu's stare.

He doesn't ask it, whatever the question might have been; only takes the seat next to Suna, hugging his backpack to his chest. "Quit talking nonsense," Osamu says blandly, shooting a pointed stare in Atsumu's direction. There's something Suna can't read in the way Atsumu's frown turns sullen, like he's been silenced for another reason entirely. "Could hear you yapping all the way from the front of the cafe. You sounded super lame."

"Cram it," Atsumu warns, crossing his arms against his chest. "I was giving your boyfriend a stern talking to."

"Don't be weird," Osamu replies, his features twisting into mild disgust at Atsumu's show of overprotectiveness. "Suna's still Suna."

"That's _exactly_ why I was giving him the talking to, you dunce!"

Suna lifts his free hand and wiggles his fingers, his eyes curving—almost mockingly—as he offers a saccharine smile. "Hi, I'm still here. Could you shelve the offensive talk until I'm out of earshot?" 

Atsumu huffs, and as unsatisfied as he looks, it's a show of acquiescence. Suna's known him long enough to be able to tell. "How long have you even liked Osamu?" Atsumu demands.

"Wow. Are you interrogating me?" Suna asks, his tone deliberately bored. "Last year of high school," he says anyway, the answer falling fluidly from the tip of his tongue. He replies without putting much thought into it, but he doubts it'll seem too preposterous. After all, he's known the Miya twins since they were all kids. The time they've spent together since then and up until now could constitute a separate lifetime in itself. Any time between then and now makes sense. 

From beside him, Suna can feel Osamu's gaze.

Atsumu's stern expression falters too and he turns his head abruptly to face the wall, letting out a faint _feh!_ before grumbling, "Gross." Sullenly, Atsumu sinks back in his chair, and Suna half-expects him to mirror the question to Osamu but he doesn't. He's still pouting like a kid but he seems satisfied with Suna's answer alone. "Keep the canoodling to a minimum in front of me, will you? Can't believe I have to see my _only brother_ mingling with the likes of _Suna Rintarou_." 

Beneath the table, Suna taps his fingertips against Osamu's thigh _—once,_ _twice_ —as a silent greeting and an unspoken reminder to _play along_. Osamu tenses at Suna's touch but relaxes not even a second later.

"Quit grilling him," Osamu says, exasperation thick in his voice. There's a waver to his words, however, that's hard to put a finger on. "Don't you have class, Sumu? Get going." 

Comically, Atsumu's eyes widen when he spots the time, flickering tauntingly at him from the screen of his phone. Letting out a curse under his breath, he jolts up from his chair and grabs his bag with little grace, fumbling to get his bearings in order. "Aw, shit. How am I going to get across campus in five minutes," he groans. "Alright, I'll catch you later. I'm not done talking to you, Suna!" 

"Yeah, you are," Osamu replies with a roll of his eyes. 

Suna waves cheerfully, a goading smile on his face. Once Atsumu's made his way out of the cafe door, Suna drops his forearm atop the table. "Hm." 

"Geez," Osamu mutters.

"Thought he'd be a little sharper than that," Suna admits, looking to his side to gauge Osamu's expression. "He took the bait pretty easily." 

"Yeah, well, he's dense," says Osamu, but he doesn't elaborate much further than that.

"You can blame it on me when the time comes. He'll probably figure it out sooner or later." Suna taps his fingers against the table. "Just wanted to see if he'd actually buy it."

Osamu doesn't reply immediately. In fact, he zones out, face blank as he scrutinizes a smudge on the table in front of him. 

"Hey," Suna says.

"Oh." Osamu blinks. He scratches his cheek, idly. "Nah. Don't have to worry about him figuring out anything." 

* * *

**Suna Rintarou (22:09):** when did you start liking me?  
 **Miya Osamu (22:10):** huh  
 **Miya Osamu (22:10):** did atsumu say something??   
**Miya Osamu (22:10):** he's full of it dont listen to him lol  
 **Suna Rintarou (22:11):** i meant for our fake relationship?  
 **Miya Osamu (22:16):** oh   
**Suna Rintarou (22:16):** was atsumu supposed to say something?  
 **Suna Rintarou (22:30):** osamu   
**Miya Osamu (22:43):** sorry was taking a shower   
**Miya Osamu (22:43):** nah just thought he tried bothering you again  
 **Miya Osamu (22:44):** anyway i dunno  
 **Suna Rintarou (22:45):** make up something   
**Suna Rintarou (22:45):** i'm bored   
**Miya Osamu (22:50):** lol   
**Miya Osamu (22:50):** i really dont know   
**Miya Osamu (22:51):** good night   
**Suna Rintarou (22:52):** night

* * *

Atsumu's been in his fair share of relationships. Osamu, on the other hand, hasn't. Suna can't count on his two hands alone the number of _confessions_ he remembers seeing Osamu receive in high school. But every single one of them ended the same way: a stunted, awkward apology falling from Osamu's lips, a sheepish scratch of the cheek— _Sorry,_ he would say, and always more than once, _but_ _I don't think that'd be fair to you_. 

Relationships are fickle. Falling in and out of like, _love_ —whatever it is—just feels unpredictable, volatile. Suna has never really minded changing tides. He's always been flexible, able to fit into the shifting mold of whatever today, yesterday, tomorrow demands of him. But the one or two relationships he's been in haven't been as simple as fitting into a mold, and he's left wondering whether there's any point in holding someone's hand if the only thing you can do is mirror their affections. And when the only thing you can do apparently isn't enough. 

He's okay with finding cracks to fit himself into. Exceeding them, though? Overflowing? He'd rather not bother. 

Osamu's cheeks bulge with food and when he lifts his head and meets Suna's gaze, he blinks slowly, chewing purposefully before swallowing. All to ask, "What?" 

"You always hold your food with two hands," Suna comments, his attention traveling from the curious glint in Osamu's eyes to the two hands clutching a half-eaten onigiri. He smiles, amused. Atsumu eats with both hands too, he realizes. "Scared someone's going to steal it from you?"

"Habit," Osamu replies with a shrug. "Atsumu always took my food when we were kids."

The smile on Suna's lips spreads, grows into a faint laugh. He lifts a hand, drags a thumb across the corner of Osamu's mouth to brush aside a stray grain of rice. "You still eat like a kid."

Osamu squints, one eye clamped shut in a wince as Suna wipes his mouth. He waits until Suna retracts his hand to continue eating. More purposeful chewing. "No one's around," he says, and it comes out like an afterthought.

Suna stretches his arms over his head before drawing his drink to his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I mean no one's around," Osamu repeats, gaze deliberately raking across the quiet nook in the humanities building that they've occupied until Ginjima's class lets out and they can all head to lunch. "You don't need to act like that."

 _Oh_. 

Come to think of it—"Isn't this how I usually treat you?" 

Osamu stills mid-bite and stares off, contemplative. "Uh," he manages ineloquently. His brows furrows and he squints again, like he's trying to recollect something. Eventually, the unintentional frown he'd been wearing eases into what Suna thinks might be muted resignation. "Huh. Yeah. Guess it is." 

"That's why you were the first person to come to mind," Suna says, crushing his carton of coffee milk once he's finished drinking from it. "Because I figured it'd be the easiest to pretend around you. If I had to, I mean." 

"Isn't that kind of weird?" Osamu asks, his words barely distinguishable over the crinkling of plastic. He's finished eating his first snack and as always, he's dutiful about cleaning up after himself. 

"Is what?" 

"The way you treat me," continues Osamu, deliberately avoiding Suna's gaze. His expression's still blank, a sort of trained neutrality barely cloaking the nervous twitch of Osamu's mouth. 

"Do you think I treat you differently from everyone else?" Suna props his elbow up on the table, pressing his cheek against an open palm. He tangles his leg with Osamu's, but Osamu doesn't even flinch—he's used to it. 

"Don't know," Osamu replies, focusing on unwrapping his second onigiri. 

"Hmm," Suna hums. "Well, I do." 

Osamu frowns, looking a mix of crestfallen and flustered, maybe not explicitly about what Suna's said. "I got umeboshi by accident. I wanted tarako," he mumbles, mostly to himself. His hands don't stop moving though, and not even ten seconds later, the wrapper's discarded on the table. "What'd you say?"

"I might play favorites," says Suna, his eyes trained on the onigiri, on how Osamu is consistent in the strangest ways—his two hands curled around this tiny ball of rice like it's precious to him.

Maybe it is kind of strange, the way their _pretend relationship_ doesn't feel like much of an upgrade or a downgrade from their ordinary, run-of-the-mill, every day. Maybe it's something Suna should be more conscious of—a sign that he treats Osamu the way he would treat a significant other. But maybe it's an indication of the opposite; that he can't treat Osamu as anything _but_ his closest friend. 

He doesn't know how to label the way he acts around Osamu. Doesn't know how to put a name to the sort of presence he likes to occupy in Osamu's life. He's never really felt like he had to because Osamu has never asked him to fit a specific mold, and has never asked Suna to give more than he had to offer. They've just existed in the same space, for a long, long while, in the closest thing to effortless harmony that Suna reckons he'll ever know. 

"You're laying it on thick today," Osamu says, mildly. He takes his first bite and, despite his earlier comment, looks like he's enjoying the pickled plum. 

"Maybe I like you better than everyone else," Suna continues, and he isn't sure what compels him to, but he reaches across the table, an index finger prodding at one of Osamu's hands, insistent, until Osamu relents and they're linking fingers. 

Osamu drops his hand to the table and they stay like that, Suna's index finger hooked around Osamu's, his thumb tracing the slope of Osamu's palm curiously, slowly. 

"Sure," is all Osamu replies.

"Can you eat with one hand?" Suna asks. He changes the subject before he can even process why he wants to. His heart's still thudding at the same pace it always does, but there's a suffocating warmth that comes with the feeling of Osamu's hand against his. "Might steal your food." 

Without batting an eye, Osamu only extends his half-eaten onigiri to Suna. "You can have some," he says. "Just ask." 

Something thumps traitorously against his rib cage. Suna leans forward and takes one bite to silence it.

* * *

**Suna Rintarou (13:05):** don't come   
**Ginjima Hitoshi (13:05):**???????  
 **Suna Rintarou (13:06):** fake sick or something   
**Ginjima Hitoshi (13:06):** What?? I'm already on my way  
 **Suna Rintarou (13:06):** turn around  
 **Ginjima Hitoshi (13:07):** Wtf  
 **Suna Rintarou (13:07):** reschedule  
 **Ginjima Hitoshi (13:07):** WTF  
 **Suna Rintarou (13:07):** my treat  
 **Ginjima Hitoshi (13:08):** ok  
 **Ginjima Hitoshi (13:10):** You can just tell me next time you want to be alone with Osamu   
**Suna Rintarou (13:10):** if you got the hint stop texting me 

* * *

It's weird.

The fact is that nothing changes. The fact is that nothing changes, and Suna _knows_ this— _knew_ this going in, and that's why he had zero qualms about pursuing this pretend relationship with Osamu, specifically. The fact is that nothing changes but at the very same time, everything does (but _nothing does_ ). It's an imperceptible shift, but ever since Osamu brought it up all of those days ago ( _"Isn't that kind of weird? The way you treat me."_ ), Suna's been thinking about it. 

The fact is that nothing changes. Even to the watchful eye, they act the same as they always did around each other.

The fact is that _nothing changes_ , and while that should draw a breath of relief from him, instead it sticks to Suna like a pernicious film.

"Hey, Suna," a familiar voice calls out at the close of class, right as Suna's about to exit the lecture hall. It's Yaha-something— _Yahaba_ —and he catches up to Suna cheerfully. "You free today? There's a group date happening in half-an-hour if you want to join." 

"Could have sworn I told you I was in a relationship," Suna replies, scrolling idly through his phone. 

"Yeah, two weeks ago," Yahaba says. "That girl in our department I told you about said she wasn't sure if you were _actually_ in a relationship." 

Suna slows his step. He really should be more curious about who this girl is, but the only faces he knows in the architecture department are largely the upperclassmen he's been working with in studio. "That so."

"I mean, I'm sure you _are_ , but I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask anyway. It's really chill, after all, so you don't have to feel obligated to walk out of it dating someone you met ther—"

"Hey." 

He looks up from his phone and sees none other than Osamu in front of him, just a few meters away. There's a blank look on Osamu's face but his features soften when he realizes he must have interrupted something. 

"Oh, uh, my bad—" Osamu starts to say, holding a hand up defensively. 

"We were done talking," Suna says smoothly, craning his head to spare Yahaba a second glance. "Right?" 

Yahaba gapes a little before letting out a sheepish laugh. "Uh, yep! Should have told me you were busy!" 

Osamu looks equally sheepish, if not a little uncomfortable, so Suna approaches him, reaching for his hand—first, hooking their index fingers together, thumb pressing against Osamu's palm; and then lacing their fingers. They lock eyes and Osamu doesn't say anything, but Suna can almost imagine his voice asking, _How should I play along?_

"I kind of did," Suna reminds Yahaba, casting him one final look over his shoulder before turning back. "See you tomorrow." 

As they walk forward in the hallway, neither of them say anything—not even when Yahaba is definitively outside of their shared periphery. Their hands remain interlocked. Even when Osamu makes a move to pull his away, Suna's grip only tightens.

"Hey, I don't think he can see us anymore," Osamu says.

"Everyone else can," Suna replies. "Apparently someone in my department's interested in me. Would be nice if _they_ saw us."

Osamu falls quiet. "You're really not interested in dating, huh, Suna?" 

He offers a half-hearted shrug in response. "Not really," Suna says, because Osamu's right. Relationships aren't on his radar; he's not interested in dating anyone right now when he's content with the way things are going in his life as is. "It's kind of a hassle." 

"Yeah, guess so," Osamu murmurs. He sports a small smile, and as he turns to look at Suna his lips move to say something just as they pass by a particularly loud huddle of students. Everything Osamu says gets muffled by the indistinct chatter in the hallway. They squeeze a little closer to each other to get through the human traffic and Osamu lets himself get crowded until his shoulder's pressed against Suna's chest. 

"What was that?" Suna asks, as soon as they make it into the quieter lobby of the building, distance growing between them naturally as he lets the arm he'd looped around Osamu's shoulders fall back, hands finding each other's again.

Osamu falters but the easy curve of his lips remains. "Was just wondering how to be more convincing," he says, but his words don't match up to the way his mouth had been moving just moments ago. Suna doesn't think to push it. "That Yahaba guy seemed kind of sharp."

"Would you hug me in front of everyone?" Suna teases, a short laugh escaping him. Jokingly, he adds, "You could kiss me." 

The lobby starts to fill with noise too as students begin to traverse here and there in-between classes. Osamu doesn't reply to Suna's joke; doesn't even crack a smile. Instead, he looks strangely invested in their surroundings. 

Right as Suna's about to call Osamu's name, Osamu squeezes his hand. 

"Don't you have class soon?" Suna moves to pull away this time, but Osamu doesn't let him. "I was going to ask why you were here."

"Oh, right." Osamu lifts a cup of iced coffee Suna hadn't even noticed, the condensation on the cup pushing beads of water off the surface and onto the ground. "You said you were sleepy so I figured you didn't grab your coffee." 

_Huh_. The brief glimmer of shock that passes over Suna's features fades; he forces it to. Instead, he stifles an amused smile. "That's cute."

Osamu frowns sullenly. "Quit it," he grumbles, pushing the cup into Suna's free hand. It's only then that Osamu lets go of Suna's other hand, too. Instead of stepping back, however, he takes a step closer.

"Hey—" Suna begins, but the rest of his words die at the tip of his tongue when he feels the press of Osamu's lips just above the corner of his mouth. 

In what feels like a split second, the distance between them is back. The smile Osamu's wearing is lazy, entirely guiltless, and Suna can only manage to stare, stunned.

"Decent amount of people around," Osamu comments, his gaze scanning the crowd. "Hope that does it for now. See you." 

"Yeah," is all Suna can manage before the only thing lingering in his field of vision is the sight of Osamu's retreating back.

It's weird.

The fact is that nothing changes. And then, in a matter of seconds, everything does. 

* * *

**Yahaba Shigeru (11:13):** uhh hey sorry again   
**Yahaba Shigeru (11:13):** i wanted to catch up and apologize in person but   
**Yahaba Shigeru (11:13):** let's just say if i wasnt convinced before im definitely convinced now  
 **Yahaba Shigeru (11:14):** ps he seems nice! rooting for ya 👍

* * *

As a kid, his family moves around a lot. He's born in Kobe, but he spends most of his formative childhood years in Tokyo. By the time his family moves back to Hyogo, settling into Amagasaki _at least until you graduate_ (a promise, not a bribe), Suna's more or less grown accustomed to filling in whatever space the world leaves behind for him without complaint. Every new city, every new school—for at least the first few weeks of _acclimation_ , it always feels a little bit like Suna's intruding in a space that was never meant for him. 

The Miya twins, however, don't really give him the time to feel bad about him. They're his next-door neighbors, his first two friends in Amagasaki, the only people he knows during the entire first month of his first year in middle school. Atsumu spots him at the end of the street the Sunday after Suna's family has moved in and he points at Suna like he's _exactly_ who Atsumu's been looking for before shouting back, _Oi, Samu! We can ask the new neighbor to play!_ After that, everything just sort of falls into place, and Amagasaki's the first city in a long-while that actually feels like _home_.

It's been years since that fateful, almost tumultuous, first meeting, and somehow, through it all, Atsumu and Osamu are still his closest friends (though he isn't sure if this is something he'd ever want to admit out loud). Friendships change because people change; sometimes, distance is inevitable. None of them are the same people they were when they were twelve-years-old, but the most important, most fundamental aspect of their friendship hasn't changed.

Because Suna has never minded fitting into the molds that the world leaves behind; hasn't ever minded looking at a puzzle and occupying the empty spaces in order not to disrupt the complete picture. But Atsumu, and _especially_ Osamu, have never asked Suna to be anything specific. Osamu in particular hasn't ever pushed Suna one way or the other. Osamu in _particular_ has only ever looked upon Suna with a sort of contentment, an unstated, _You're fine the way you are_ , constant in his gaze.

In high school, nothing really changes, except Suna's more or less found his footing. He's more comfortable around his friends, including Osamu; doesn't spend as much time wondering if the precious friendships he's made in Amagasaki are as transient as everything _before_ age twelve felt. 

At twelve, he trails behind Osamu. At seventeen, they're shoulder-to-shoulder.

His mind feels complicated tonight. Ever since he'd uttered the white lie to Yahaba, all of those weeks ago, Suna had convinced himself that the only reasons why Osamu's name was the first to come to mind fell into two distinct categories: (1) because Osamu serendipitously texted him right then, and (2) because if Suna's going to fake a convincing relationship with anyone, it has to be with the person he trusts most—

It's not like him to doubt his convictions, not anymore. But he sprawls out in his bed, forearm pressed against closed eyes, and he wonders if there was ever another reason, one he just never acknowledged, why when he thought of a _relationship—_ of holding hands with someone, of embracing someone, of kissing someone—everything seemed to come back to Osamu. 

At twelve, he trails behind. At seventeen, they're shoulder-to-shoulder. At twenty-one, Suna wonders why he thought pretense was the only way to face Osamu. 

He sees the light illuminating the window across his, from the house next-door, flicker before going dark. Suna presses a fingertip against the corner of his lips, moves it up—slowly, carefully—to where he remembers the lingering warmth of Osamu's kiss.

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Truth be told, Suna's much too self-aware to even pretend like he hasn't figured out what this is. (And maybe, _maybe_ , he always had a vague inkling.) 

As a kid, his family moves around a lot. He's born in Kobe. Grows up in Tokyo. By the time he moves to Amagasaki to start middle school, he takes his parents' promise that this will be the _last time_ with a grain of salt. He meets two boys—sun and moon—and the first time Osamu says, _We'll be friends forever_ , is the first time Suna puts all of his faith into a flimsy promise he'd always doubted. 

Twelve then; twenty-one now. Not much has changed, if he really thinks about it. He'd be stupid to be selfish after coming all this way. 

He retracts his hand from his lips, curling it into a fist instead. 

Yeah. He'd be stupid. 

* * *

**Suna Rintarou (22:30):** your light's out already   
**Suna Rintarou (22:30):** didn't even wish me good night   
**Miya Osamu (22:31):** good night   
**Suna Rintarou (22:31):** i was joking...  
 **Miya Osamu (22:31):** your light's out too   
**Suna Rintarou (22:35):** you actually pay attention to it?  
 **Miya Osamu (22:37):** yeah?  
 **Miya Osamu (22:37):** it's hard to sleep when it's on   
**Miya Osamu (22:37):** so i usually wait until it's off   
**Suna Rintarou (22:37):** what  
 **Suna Rintarou (22:38):** and you never told me?   
**Miya Osamu (22:38):** why would i   
**Miya Osamu (22:38)** never minded lol

* * *

(Here's a distinct memory Suna has of childhood: 

Someone calls his name at an hour closer to midnight. He scrambles to his window, pushing it open, half-awake, only to meet Osamu's eager gaze. They're probably thirteen, then; maybe not even. Osamu looks _elated_ when he realizes Suna did hear him, that whatever he was trying to do worked. 

"What is it," Suna remembers grumbling.

"Oh, I just thought it was kind of cool," Osamu had replied, his whisper carried from his window to Suna's by the evening wind. 

"What's cool?" 

"Uhhh, aw... It sounds dumb if you make me say it..." Osamu had sulked then. "It's just neat. Feels like even when we're _not_ together, we're together. Bet dumb old Sumu's jealous of my room _now_."

Here's a distinct memory Suna has of childhood:

Osamu's grin, wide and somehow brighter in the moonlight, when he made it seem like Suna was a precious person he'd entertained the idea of _together_ and _forever_ with.) 

* * *

**Suna Rintarou (22:45):** hey i think   
**Miya Osamu (22:46):**?   
~~**Suna Rintarou (22:46):** i think i like you~~ _**DELETED!**_  
 ~~ **Suna Rintarou (22:46):** i think i've always liked you~~ _**DELETED!**_  
 **Suna Rintarou (22:46):** i think i can hear your stomach growling from here  
 **Miya Osamu (22:47):**...  
 **Miya Osamu (22:47):** liar  
 **Miya Osamu (22:47):** im going to bed   
**Suna Rintarou (22:47):** good night

* * *

They don't talk about it. 

Neither of them _say anything_ about it, but they might as well have with the way Osamu seems to be extra conscious of any semblance of space (whether it's too little or too much) that exists between them. He's trying his best not to be noticeable about it, so Suna pretends not to notice. It'd probably be easier for both of them if Suna said something about it, whether it be a poorly-timed joke or a flippant acknowledgment that best friends don't kiss _but that's okay, we can move on_. 

He doesn't say a single thing about it. 

No one really thinks to bother Suna about things like group dates or blind dates anymore. Yahaba must have spread the word or something. There probably isn't a point to continuing the pretend relationship anymore, but—

Suna frowns, bending the tip of the straw in front of him. 

"Oi."

He looks up annoyedly, meeting Atsumu's equally irritated gaze. "What."

"What's your deal? You're acting like that straw stole your wallet or something." Atsumu juts his chin in the general direction of Suna's drink. They have empty bowls pushed to the side and they're probably overstaying their welcome. "What is it. You and Samu break up already?"

Suna pulls his hand away from the straw and drums his fingertips against the surface of the table instead. Once. Twice. And then he looks Atsumu in the eye again. "Hey, are you stupid?" he asks.

" _Hey_ , you know that's _rude_?" Atsumu huffs. "Can't even ask a dang question without feeling like you'd kick my ass. You know, it's blatant _favoritism_ the way you treat Osamu!"

"Are you stupid," Suna repeats, ignoring virtually everything Atsumu's said, though the comment about favoritism nearly makes Suna's eye twitch. For how frustrated he feels, Suna's tone is surprisingly level. He lays his hand, palm flat, against the table. "We're not dating."

Atsumu's glower dissipates and he gapes instead. "Huh?" 

"We're _not dating_." Suna stares at the half-empty cup in front of him. The condensation collecting on the outside of the glass reminds him of the cup of coffee Osamu had heroically attempted to deliver at the end of last week. Has it already been that long since? "I asked Osamu to fake a relationship with me to get Yahaba off my back." 

He counts in his head (one, two, _three_ —) and waits for an outburst, but he doesn't get one. Instead, when Suna hazards a look in Atsumu's direction, Atsumu only looks vaguely exasperated. 

"You don't seem surprised," Suna observes.

"Osamu can't keep secrets from me," Atsumu says. He flattens his eyes. "Geez, if you two aren't dancing the most frustrating tango in the world..." 

"There you go again," Suna mutters.

"What? There I go again? What am I doing?"

"Acting like a know-it-all." Suna leans back in his seat, letting out a steady exhale. He's only pushing Atsumu's buttons because he isn't sure if he's ready to talk about what's _actually_ sitting between them—the elephant in the room. 

"Jerk," Atsumu grits out through a clearly forced smile. Still, he seems to get why Suna's being so prickly because he doesn't push back any more than that. "So, why'd you ask Osamu?" 

Suna shrugs, fixing his gaze on something far-off, forcing an air of nonchalance so he doesn't take this—this conversation, his thoughts—too seriously. "Maybe I just wanted to ask a good-looking guy." 

"Then you could have asked me," posits Atsumu.

The frown on Suna's face is almost instantaneous. "I said _good-looking_ guy." He purposely kicks Atsumu's shin. "Don't be disgusting." 

" _Ow_ , you f—we have the _same face_." Atsumu clenches his jaw before sighing, heavily. "Fine. Don't say it. You know, I only went on that group date because I thought _you_ were going and I was going to sabotage you." 

"The one from a few weeks ago?" 

"Yeah, that one. The one you got out of by pretending you were dating Osamu," Atsumu says, rolling his eyes.

"How uncool of you," Suna comments, tone dry as he drags a fingertip along the side of his glass. "What's there to sabotage?" 

"Goooooood god," Atsumu drawls out, flinging himself against the back of his chair, arms dangling over the back—the gesture is so petulant, almost _childish_ , that Suna has to bite back a smirk. "For someone who thinks he knows everything, you sure don't know shit, Suna. What, you think I was jealous of you or something? That I couldn't handle if you started dating someone before I did?"

Suna moves to twirl his straw, the ice that hasn't melted yet clinking loudly. "Didn't say that," he says.

Being in Atsumu's company without Osamu as a buffer doesn't feel strange, considering the years they've spent parallel or at least adjacent to one another, but it does feel _different_. Osamu's quieter, for one; more content with spectating. Atsumu, on the other hand, never seems to run out of things to say, and when he sees a problem—something he's designated as an issue—he has to seize it head-on or he won't be able to sleep at night. Suna supposes whatever's happening right now is Atsumu doing just that: confronting the knot at Suna's solar plexus because Suna won't. 

"Hey, Suna," Atsumu starts, slumping forward until his arms are draped over the table, Suna's glass right in the middle. "Gonna' ask you something real up close and personal. Throw me a bone and tell me the truth just this once, will you?"

Suna doesn't reply. 

"Do you like him?" 

" _Hey_ ," says Suna, "are you stupid?" 

"Uuuuu _uuuuuuugh_ ," Atsumu groans obnoxiously, sinking back in his seat again, clearly growing more and more fed-up with each passing second. "Listen, you dunce, I'm not asking you to give me the full run-down of the fifty-thousand worst case scenarios you've got running through in your mind. Seriously creepy, by the way! The way you're probably panicking while you're glaring at me like I stole the last freeze pop—" He exhales sharply, folding his hands together in front of his face, pressing the curve of his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, his eyes clamped in a two-second meditation. "Just answer the damn question. Come on. Yes or no."

It's funny because Atsumu's right. There are fifty-thousand worst case scenarios running through his mind right this second; a number that's been growing since the second he felt the press of Osamu's lips. Suna isn't usually like this. He leaves the prophesying to people who are better suited to come up with contingency plans and then he follows what they have to say without complaint. But when it comes to Osamu, Suna supposes he's gotten into the habit of making the dumbest exceptions.

He can't help it though, because the fact is that the idea of risking an entire friendship—the type of friendship where even the smallest bit of distance feels like an _ocean_ —for feelings he could probably bite back, swallow whole, pretend to forget if he had to feels _stupid_. 

Atsumu stares at Suna like he knows _exactly_ what Suna's thinking. 

"So what if I do," replies Suna. 

" _So what if I do_ —quit acting cool! Alright, listen here, Suna. I'm going to tell you a secret," continues Atsumu, chin pressed to the tabletop, his eyes—exasperated and a little fond all at once—focusing lazily on Suna's face. "But it feels kind of dirty to do something for you without asking for something in return— _whatever_ , I'll think of something later. Anyway, you want to know why I'd only go on a group date if you were going? Because I thought if you did get end up getting along with someone—fat chance, your personality _sucks—_ "

"Can you even say that with a straight face?"

" _Don't interrupt me_. Anyway, I thought if you _did_ end up getting along with someone, that I'd do a good buddy of mine a favor and try to shut that down right away." Atsumu shifts again, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his mouth tugged into a sullen frown. "See, my good buddy really likes you. _Has liked you_ for a long time. So long, in fact, that I've been telling him he really ought to give it up."

The knot at the center of Suna's chest, it _pulses_ and Suna bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything. He has a feeling the words wouldn't make it out of his mouth even if he wanted to. 

"But he won't," Atsumu says. "You know, at this point, I don't even know if he knows how. What, you worried about your friendship with Osamu? Yeah, okay. Fair. I bet that's why he hasn't said anything either, even though he probably realized how he felt years before you even had an inkling you might feel the same." He's clenching his jaw again, and for the nth time, Suna can tell Atsumu really is worried about Osamu. About _Suna_. "Whatever. Dance around each other all you want." 

"You'd really go to a group date just to stop me?" Suna asks instead. 

"No," Atsumu admits, "but at least if I saw you all happy with someone else with my own two eyes, I could maybe let Osamu break his own heart before letting you near it." 

The tongue-in-cheek atmosphere they'd built up shatters almost instantly at the mention of _breaking Osamu's heart_. Atsumu's looking at Suna like he expects something, is _hoping_ for something, and Suna presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking a promise he hasn't even made yet. 

Something twists at the pit of his stomach this time and Suna can taste the bitterness of the mere _idea_ of being the one responsible for breaking Osamu's heart. 

He hates it. 

"I guess I can't care whether you do something about _your_ crush or not," Atsumu says with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. He leans forward then, jabbing an index finger threateningly in Suna's face. "But you better quit stringing him along. If you're not gonna treat him like the person you like, then you _damn well_ better treat him like your best friend."

He doesn't say anything, again.

Atsumu frowns, staring at a spot on the ceiling pensively. "Don't really see why you can't do both though," he mutters. 

* * *

**Miya Atsumu (15:39):** YOU DIDNT HAVE TO LEAVE SO QUICKLY **  
Miya Atsumu (15:39):** LEAVING ME WITH YOUR DAMN BILL LIKE A CAVEMAN 

* * *

Here's what he knows: 

A lot of crushes can fall to pieces. Whether it's due to inaction or because it's simply _not meant to be_ , sometimes in place of peace, there's a sort of tumult that seems to be the unfortunate preamble to a broken heart. He'd know because he's seen so many confessions go unanswered in the time he's spent by Osamu's side. _Sorry,_ Osamu would always say, his expression akin to guilt-ridden child, _but I don't think that'd be fair to you_.

He knows a couple of other things too. Namely, what to call the knot at the center of his rib cage ( _affection_ ); what to call his instinct to rope Osamu into his scheme before even considering anyone else ( _security_ ).

And what to call the throbbing of his head, alleviated only when he hears a familiar voice call his name ( _attachment_ ). 

"Suna?" Osamu calls out from one end of the hallway. He sounds perplexed, which makes sense considering Suna's never had much reason to seek Osamu out within the confines of the engineering building. If they ever met, it was outside—or more often, Osamu would find him in the architecture department. "What's wrong?" he asks, when they're finally only a meter away from each other. 

Without _thinking_ , without dwelling on what he does and doesn't know, Suna wraps his hand around Osamu's wrist and immediately drags him down the hall and into the first empty seminar room he finds. He doesn't even bother to turn the lights on, only slams the door shut and waits until he can hear the _click_ of the lock before he presses Osamu's back against it. 

"Hey—" Osamu's hand hovers over Suna's shoulder uncertainly. "Suna?" And when he doesn't get a response, softer: "Rin?" 

"You kissed me. Why?" He feels Osamu tense beneath his hands but Suna squeezes Osamu's shoulders, tries to keep him _focused_ because he knows—that maybe they both need this. "Tell me."

"Sorry," Osamu says instead, the word falling clumsily from his lips. "I wasn't really thinking—"

"If you hadn't left," Suna says, finally pulling his gaze from the way his hands seem to be trembling, just slightly, against the plane of Osamu's shoulders and settling his attention on Osamu's face instead. "If you hadn't left so soon, I probably would have kissed you too. And I wouldn't have missed."

"I didn't miss—"

Suna leans in, their lips just centimeters away from one another. He doesn't move any further than that, only waits (seconds turn to eternities) until Osamu presses the the palm of his hand against Suna's mouth in a muted panic, pushing his face away.

"Quit it," Osamu urges, the pink of his cheeks noticeable even in the dimness of the classroom. 

Their eyes meet. 

"I didn't miss," repeats Osamu. He doesn't move his hand and Suna doesn't push it away either. They stay like that, _centimeters_ from each other but gazes locked over a wall. "It's all pretend. Why would I kiss you on the mouth? Geez."

It's then that Osamu drops his hand, right as Suna slumps against him, forehead pressed against Osamu's neck. 

"Why are you so wound up?" asks Osamu, hesitantly lifting one hand before dragging it through Suna's hair, in as placating a manner as he can muster up. 

"Hey," Suna manages to say, eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt at following the way Osamu's pulse quickens, "am I stupid?" _He is_ , he knows he is. Doesn't need anyone to tell him that, though he wouldn't mind if Osamu did. One of his hands slides down from Osamu's shoulder, palm splayed against the space where Osamu's heart is. With futility, Suna curls his hand around the fabric of the shirt there.

Is he scared? Maybe a little. Does he think this might be futile after all? Sure. But right this second, _right here_ , he can't even bring himself to put up another pretense when Osamu's heartbeat is so painstakingly honest. 

"Am I stupid?" Suna asks a second time. "I like you." 

Seconds again, eternities again. He hears Osamu let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. "Rin." He feels the warmth of Osamu's palm against the back of his neck. "You're done with classes? Let's get out of here." 

He can't bring himself to protest or even press the topic so he relents, straightening his posture and settling what he hopes is a neutral expression onto his face. Osamu must see right through him because he clicks his tongue, taking Suna's hand in his. 

"Come on," he urges, squeezing Suna's hand. "You scared?"

(Twelve again, letting Osamu lead him out of the classroom, the only thing Suna can focus on the square of Osamu's back. Seventeen again when Osamu tugs Suna's hand forward until they're walking shoulder-to-shoulder, paces matched. 

Twenty-one, and Suna thinks, distantly, _You're right here. So, why do I want to see you so badly?_ )

* * *

**[DRAFT] Suna Rintarou (16:04):** when did you start liking me

There's a soft _thud_ as Suna processes the weight of Osamu's head against his shoulder. He's fast asleep. The only sound Suna hears, aside from the rapid _click-click-click_ of the train clinging to the rails, is the soft in-and-out of Osamu's breath. Both of Osamu's hands are clasped around Suna's on his lap as he sleeps, and Suna wonders, distantly, _Are you worried someone will steal me away too?_

* * *

"I'm home," Suna greets to an empty house. Osamu trails in behind him, still a little groggy from his nap on the train. 

They're both quiet as they make their way up the stairs to Suna's bedroom. It's been a long time since Osamu (and Atsumu, on that note) last visited. Suna's house never felt quite as warm as Osamu and Atsumu's after all, even growing up. 

"Your room's the same," Osamu observes when he follows Suna in, eyes widening as he takes in the sight of everything contained within four off-white walls. Suna's room has always seemed a little impersonal, he supposes; there's not a lot to distinguish it from the guest room—only a picture frame on his bookshelf (age twelve, Suna sandwiched between Osamu and Atsumu on their first day of middle school) and a stack of used sketchbooks, remnants from his excruciating architectural studio class. "Very _Suna_."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Osamu offers Suna a searching look before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "Nothing bad." 

The silence between them is usually comfortable, but today Suna feels a little stifled by it. He's about to say something, maybe ask if they can forget what happened—that that moment of weakness where he felt like his composure might fall apart _wasn't him_.

But Osamu doesn't let him. Gracelessly, he announces, "I like you too." 

Suna's hands stop fidgeting with a pen on his desk. He turns instead, shifting his weight against his desk, his own eyes _searching_ in a feeble attempt to gauge Osamu's expression. It's undisturbed, a sort of glint in Osamu's eyes that seems to ask, _Don't you b_ _elieve me?_

He knew Osamu liked him too, but there was an insistent voice at the back of his head that promised that that _wasn't_ enough. Suna almost laughs at how easy it is for Osamu to bypass the most foundational of Suna's worries without even trying. He knows he doesn't show it, the thoughts he's coursing through or the emotions he's trying to make sense of, but somehow, Osamu seems to catch the gist of what's most important without Suna even opening his mouth.

"Actually, when you texted me that night," Osamu starts, leaning back on the heels of his hands, "about _when I started liking you_ , I thought you figured it out. You're pretty sharp, you know. And I'm no good at lying." 

He squints, racking his brain to recollect what Osamu told him. Didn't he say he _didn't know_? 

"I don't know," continues Osamu, like he can read Suna's thoughts. "It just... happened. I don't know when. I don't even know if it really matters. Even in high school, I knew I liked you." Suna's reminded of Osamu's trademark way of turning down confessions. Osamu continues, "Even before then, probably."

Suna presses his palms against the edge of his desk, curls his fingers, suddenly feeling like he has to anchor himself to _something_.

"I just know it's been a long time," Osamu says, flopping over until his back's against Suna's bed. He stares blankly at the ceiling. "For as long as I can remember." 

"And you still let me rope you into something as stupid as this." 

Osamu cracks a smile, eyes curving into crescents as he laughs—loudly. "Haha, yeah, I guess I did." His laughter subsides and his grins fades into something smaller. Osamu holds his hand up, closes his fist over his face. "Wasn't so bad. I didn't mind it." He drops his arm back to his side, folding his hands over his stomach. "I play favorites too." 

Suna barely manages to suppress the smile on his face. He hesitates for a fleeting moment before pushing himself up and off of his desk, taking one step, two, and then three until he's standing at the foot of his bed. 

He wouldn't call himself ineloquent but situations like this one seem to call for a sort of grace, a sort of vulnerability that Suna's bad at. He wants to say, _I don't remember either_. Wants to say, _I want to stay your favorite._ Wants to say—

"Hey." Osamu's voice cuts right through Suna's busy thoughts. Slowly, he outstretches his arms, doesn't make a single motion beyond that. Doesn't look away from Suna for a _single_ instant.

It's weird. The way nothing changes and then _everything_ changes and then _everything_ turns from a wave to a ripple to nothing more than the flow of every day. Suna laughs to himself, a scoff of disbelief, before he takes another step forward, knees bending when his shins hit the mattress. He clambers on top of Osamu, feels his whole body tense and then relax when he feels Osamu's arms curl around his neck. 

He used to think relationships were fruitless. He'd gotten tired of trying to fit molds that weren't made for him, and a relationship felt like a strand of the same idea; mirror the affections of the person in front of you. Be who they think you are. Take the mold you're used to and overflow; overcompensate. Someone will always want more than you have to offer. 

Osamu seems to look at him and say, _You want to be a puzzle piece? What for? I'm not a puzzle._ Osamu seems to look at him and say, _You're fine just the way you are._

He likes him. _Really_ likes him, and Suna isn't sure when it began or when he _actually_ realized—only knows that at some point in this fake relationship, maybe right from the get-go, he started thinking it wouldn't be so bad if it went on, and on, and on. It wouldn't be so bad if Osamu held his hand tighter, kissed him again. 

"That day you kissed me," Suna says, burying his face in the crook of Osamu's neck, "you were saying something and I couldn't hear you. You tried to lie about what you said, didn't you? What did you really say?"

"Oh." Osamu's face flushes faintly. "Nah, don't worry about it—"

This time, Suna presses his forehead to Osamu's, and they're _so close_ that if he just moved, even by accident, the conversation might die right then and there. He has to be patient. "Why are you being so shy?" 

Osamu holds his breath and the exhale he has to release tickles Suna's cheek. "Come _on_ ," he gripes.

"Tell me," Suna says, pressing his lips to the corner of Osamu's mouth, just above it—the same place Osamu first kissed him.

"I just said..." Osamu squirms, letting out another laugh when Suna's lips travel across the curve of his jaw to the bob of his throat. "I think the person you decide to date will be really lucky." 

"Oh," echoes Suna, lifting his head so they're eye-to-eye, face-to-face again. "You do it."

Osamu blinks. Slowly, the way he always does. "Do what?"

" _You_ be the person I date." Suna leans in. "Are you going to stop me again?" 

Clumsily, Osamu cups Suna's cheek, drawing him closer until their lips just barely brush. "Won't stop you," he says. "Not if it isn't pretend."

It's just like them not to need the fanfare. They don't need to explain themselves, to justify why it took so much bumbling to get to this point. Maybe it's the years they've spent together, but maybe it's nothing like that at all; it's just a product of who they are and who they were meant to be for each other. He doesn't care. Any of the apologies he might have had moments ago die at the tip of his tongue when he catches the way Osamu's gaze travels fondly from Suna's eyes to his lips.

He's content with the way things are because _the way things are_ has always involved Osamu in some way, shape, or form. 

He lies him. _Really_ likes him, and the way Osamu gazes at him makes Suna realize that that's okay. 

"Not pretend," Suna confirms. He kisses Osamu properly this time, nipping lazily at Osamu's lower lip when they pull away to add, "It starts now. Day one." 

Osamu grins and pulls Suna closer for another kiss, the curve of his smile against's Suna's mouth enough to force the last of Suna's worries, his concerns, his doubts into nothing. 

(Twelve: chasing after someone's back in hopes that they won't become someone you have to give up someday, inevitably.

Seventeen: learning to find comfort in the promise of consistency, the steady reliability of tomorrow. 

And twenty-one: looking at a reminder of the present face-on and deciding not to deliberate on uncertainties of the future in favor of focusing on _today_.)

* * *

( **Miya Atsumu (14:07):** where the hell are you   
**Miya Atsumu (14:07):** and where the hell is samu????   
**Miya Atsumu (14:07):** HELLO?  
 **Suna Rintarou (14:08):** busy   
**Miya Atsumu (14:08):** doing WHAT   
**Suna Rintarou (14:10):** [ _Image Attached_ ]   
**Miya Atsumu (14:10):** why are u sending me a pic of samu   
**Miya Atsumu (14:10):** i see his ugly mug every d  
 **Miya Atsumu (14:11):** wait  
 **Miya Atsumu (14:11):** SUNA ILL KICK BOTH OF YOUR ASSES TO TOMORROW

"He'll believe you, you know," Osamu comments, watching as Suna scrolls lazily through his messages. One of his cheeks bulges with food. Osamu takes another bite of the onigiri he's holding in one hand, the other hand firmly laced with Suna's. It's tarako, this time. "He's not smart enough to know when you're kidding."

Suna glances at Osamu, kissing the corner of his jaw once before returning his attention to his phone. "He only ate 500-yen plates when I took him to sushi. Let him believe whatever he wants."

"Why'd you even treat him?"

Instinctively, he frowns because he doesn't want to admit that his conversation with Atsumu back then, before everything unraveled, was what he needed—a push in the right direction. Considering Atsumu hasn't let either him _or_ Osamu forget it since he found out they were finally and officially dating, Suna shouldn't feel like he has to keep his motives a secret. At least, not from Osamu. Still, he's too embarrassed (or maybe irritated) to say it out loud.

"You would have figured it out eventually," Osamu continues, crumpling the plastic wrapper into a compact ball. 

"Yeah," Suna agrees. He reaches out to swipe his thumb against the corner of Osamu's mouth, brushing aside a stray grain of rice. "Inevitably.")

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a two-day trance so if you can tell, no you can't ♡ (thank you for reading!)


End file.
